


Just A Few Feet

by Smoke_Screen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e12 In the Name of the Brother, Gen, Hurt Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoke_Screen/pseuds/Smoke_Screen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But she's close enough now, close enough to see the blood on his lips and blood trailing down the corner of his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> *An alternate version of the episode "In The Name Of The Brother", because I couldn't find any fan fiction that covered this. And, because Emma Swan is lucky I couldn't lay hands on her.
> 
> *This story is also on FanFiction.net, although my user name there is TheHMMWV. Just so there is no confusion.
> 
> *There are 4 more chapters, all written. The story is complete, and will be posted over the next few days.
> 
> *I wrote this a while back, I'm not sure I like it anymore.
> 
> *I always love to hear what you think, enjoy!

It’s a strange feeling.

You know those dreams where you’re drowning and you see someone walk by, and you want to shout, want to call for help, but your voice is failing you. So you watch them go away, unable to do anything but sink.

It’s a strange feeling, when something along those lines actually happens, to you.

 

His eyes are still open but he can no longer make out the faces that linger above his head. Only shapes in the growing darkness. His lungs are burning from lack of oxygen, the pain in his chest growing, becoming intolerable. He’s almost ready to let go, if only to escape the agony, when a siren sounds and the pressure on his throat goes away. The air rushes back in.

 

None of them, not Emma, not David, and certainly not Mr. Gold, stay long enough to witness the violent coughing fit that hits him the moment he breathes in. And he is thankful, if only for a second, because they won’t see the tears that threaten to spill. Damn him if he’s going to cry like a girl in front of them, even though he thinks his insides might be on fire. He knows, once the coughing subsides and he can take a few shallow, wheezing breaths, that there’s blood on his lips. He can’t see it and he can’t muster quite enough strength to bring up his hand and wipe it away, but he can taste it just fine.

 

David still has his hands on Gold, in part to help him stand and in part so they wouldn’t have a murder on their hands on top of everything, when the ambulance skids to a halt. Emma is relived at their quick response. Maybe they wouldn’t lose anyone today after all.

 

When the paramedics head toward her and she realizes they are trying to get to Hook, behind her, she doesn’t think twice before shouting: “No, him!” And her hand is pointing at the crashed car. “Take care of him! He can wait!” And as they rush to do their job, she has a moment to process something. She doesn’t recognize the driver, and apparently neither does anyone around her.

 

With their backs all turned to him, none of them notice Hook go still on the side of the road. He can see them though, although his vision is fading in and out, and wishes he could make any sounds except the constant wheezing. He thinks he can actually hear the blood filling his lungs, but then again, he may be just imagining it. He knows he can’t actually take deep enough a breath to shout, but tries to anyway. He’s rewarded with another coughing fit that finally sends him over the edge.

 

As she’s standing there, in the middle of the road, with her father by her side, Emma doesn’t yet know why, exactly, but she has a bad feeling about all this. Not only Mr. Gold’s inevitable fury at losing Belle, but a stranger arriving in Storybrooke. If one person’s found it, more would surely follow, sooner or later. She doesn’t even want to think of all the complications that will bring. And her being the sheriff and this supposed “savior” everyone keeps calling her, she just knows it will all fall on her shoulders. Emma can’t stop a weary sigh falling from her lips.

 

“Is… is he dead?”

 

Belle’s high pitched, still freaked out voice comes from somewhere to Emma’s left and brings her out of her musings. For a few long seconds her brain refuses to cooperate, too tired from everything, and for the life of her she can’t figure out who she’s talking about. But then her eyes find Belle’s and she follows her line of sight. Of course, Hook. Hook, who’s still sprawled out on the side of the road, now obviously unconscious.

 

“No, listen, it’s okay.” Still looking at the motionless pirate, she quickly makes her way to the shook up brunette, intent on calming her down. She can’t quite imagine what losing all your memories at once must feel like. No need to scare her more than she already is.

 

“He’ll be fine, he just passed…” And then something clicks. “…out.”

 

It’s dark and he’s hurt and she’s just not close enough, but she can’t see his chest moving.

 

She motions for David to come over and tells him to take care of Belle.

 

“It’s okay,” she’s trying for confident but her words come out slightly shaky and rushed. “This is my father, just, go with him to the hospital. Maybe they’ll be able to help you remember something.” Emma knows it’s a blatant lie but she doesn’t care, she needs Belle calm and safe and out of the way.

 

Without waiting for a reply she walks to Hook, steps slow and careful, hesitant _. ‘Come on Emma, you’re being silly, he’s not…’_ But she’s close enough now, close enough to see the blood on his lips and blood trailing down the corner of his mouth. She’s close enough now, to see that he really isn’t breathing, but it’s her mind playing tricks on her. It must be, because she’s tired and he was fine just a few minutes ago. He was fine when David pulled Gold off of him and they walked… away.

 

Her breath catches in her throat.

 

Maybe he wasn’t fine when she pointed the paramedics away from him, standing just a few feet from where she is now.


	2. Tick. Tock.

“Emma?” It’s a familiar voice. She knows that voice, she’s sure of it. Snow, she’s standing behind Emma, hand on her shoulder. “Are you…” Her voice trails of when she moves to stand beside her daughter and notices Hook.

“…okay.”

 

On the other side of the road, the driver is being loaded into the ambulance. David and Belle are in the car, waiting. Mr. Gold is hovering nearby, his face a mixture of hurt and helpless anger. Emma doesn’t see any of that. Words come tumbling out of her mouth before she even knows it, “He was fine, he was-”

 

But Snow is crutching down by his side, hands moving quickly, searching for a pulse. It’s cold so she doesn’t comment on how cold his skin appears to be. Not until she’s sure.

 

She almost misses it, a barely there flutter beneath her fingertips. Relief floods through her, at not being witness to yet another death.

 

It’s what finally snaps Emma out of her stupor and she bites back on the shame that threatens to consume her, pushes it down. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the ambulance doors closing, and she sprints the short distance between her and the paramedics.

 

“Wait, stop, over-”

“Here!” Snow’s voice cuts her off, and the next few minutes turn to chaos.

 

…

 

David is silent behind the wheel on their way to the hospital, and Snow is in the back with Belle. Emma can see her in the rearview mirror, sees her lips moving, so she must be saying something but it doesn’t reach Emma. For the short ride, nothing does. Her words, on a loop, keep playing in her head: _“No! He can wait!”_

It’s better when they get to the waiting room. Ruby and Grumpy are suddenly there, and everyone is talking, and everyone has an opinion, a question. And eyes are watching her, expecting answers and solutions and maybe an abracadabra to fix everything because she is the bloody Savior. Not one of them though, asks about Hook, and Emma is thankful for small victories.

 

It’s a few minutes or a few hours later, that they see Dr. Whale approaching.

 

Emma’s guilt tugs on its leash, does a quick sky-rocket and then settles low in her chest. Right next to the dread at Whale’s grim expression.

 

“They are both alive,” and he pretends not to notice the dwarf’s almost disappointed sigh, “and the Sheriff will be able to question the driver in a few hours, when he wakes up.”

 

Emma nods dumbly, composes herself. Stands up. “Everyone should go home, it’s late. I’ll stay here and wait for him to wake up.” And everyone does, except Snow, who takes a bit more convincing before she leaves her daughter alone.

 

It’s way past midnight and the hospital is quiet, calmed down after the chaos that ensued hours earlier. Emma, now alone, gathers her nerve and walks over to where Dr. Whale has sat down. Her voice comes out brittle, and she allows herself a silent curse.

“What about Hook?” Whale’s expression still bothers her, and Emma isn’t sure she wants to hear the answer. But she needs to, has to.

 

The doctor looks up from the cup of coffee he’d gotten in the meantime, and motions for her to sit down next to him. Emma feels queasy.

 

“Mr. Jones survived the surgery, but he’s still critical. There’s really nothing more that we can do except wait and see what happens.”

 

Emma thinks she might be dreaming, because those are words you only hear on TV. But the chair is cold beneath her body, hard, and Whale looks dead on his feet, so to speak, and it’s all real.

 

“What-” She clears her throat, because the words fight to stay unspoken. “What’s wrong with him?” She hears, _he was dying, he couldn’t breathe, his lungs were filling with blood and you stood just a few feet  away and said he could **wait**. _ But Whale’s lips aren’t moving yet, and Emma swallows hard.

 

“Well we managed to repair most of the damage his lungs suffered, and take care of the broken ribs. What worries me is the oxygen deprivation. I understand someone tried to strangle him?” Apparently, someone already talked to him.

 

“Yes, he-”

 

“And that was after he got hit by the car?” His tone isn’t accusing, but Emma feels like she’s on trial. She manages a nod, and Whale stands up.

 

“Well Sheriff, from what I’ve heard about Mr. Jones, he doesn’t give up all that easily. I’m just surprised the paramedics took so long.” The last part is muttered, Emma barely catches it. She feels cold, the air too thick.

 

“I’ll be in my office, if you need me, Miss Swan.”

 

Another stupid nod later, and she’s alone again.

 

_“No, him! Take care of him! He can wait!”_

Tick. Tock.


	3. Don't Worry About Him

It's almost morning and Emma is asleep, awkwardly sprawled over three chairs in the waiting room when a hand lands on her shoulder. She jerks awake, looks around, remembers where she is. Her neck and back hurt from sleeping as she was. A nurse smiles sympathetically at her, informs her that Greg Mendell is awake. She can question him now.

She finally gets a good look at the driver. A stranger. In Storybooke. It still makes her uneasy.

"Nurse?" He sounds weak, and Emma realizes she never actually got the details on him from Dr Whale.

"Sheriff Swan, actually." She hands him a glass of water, puts his personal belongings on the desk next to the bed.

"So, Mr. Mendell, I want to talk to you about the accident."

"Did I hit someone?" And he must see something in her face, because he sucks in a breath. "Oh my God, I hit someone. Is he okay?"

Her hands twitch, mind goes momentarily blank. But the guy is starting to panic, and she's saying words before she has time to think about them. "Don't worry about him." And she thinks, the guilt on Mr. Mendell's face is a shadow of what she's trying desperately not to show.

After that, it doesn't take long. She gets the answers she came for, and gets out. Looking at his face makes it nearly impossible to pretend nothing's happened, and Emma can't afford to cave under the weight of her guilt. There's still so much to do.

She's on her way out, texting everyone the good news. He didn't see anything, their secret's safe. For now, anyway.

And that's when she notices it. A patch of dark hair amongst the white hospital sheets. Almost stumbling, Emma puts the phone away.

Some habits are hard to kick. For Emma Swan, it's running away.

But she doesn't give in to it, not this time. Even though her insides are twisted into knots and her limbs shaky, she stays put. There's something to lose now, something valuable to leave behind.

So she doesn't get her car, doesn't go to a new town. Instead, she finds herself in Hook's room, unable to look away from his still form.

It's strange seeing him out of his leather armor. In the hospital bathrobe, he looks- real. Less like a fairytale villain and more like a regret. Her regret.

There are tubes and wires, and she is glad she doesn't know what they're for.

When she sits down on the single chair in the room, she feels like an intruder. Like she has no right to be there.

There's a dark bruise on his chin, and if she looks at it long enough, she can almost see the shape of Gold's shoe. It's hidden underneath the clothes and sheets, but she knows there's a line of matching color stretching across his throat.

A piece of paper, left on the desk, catches her attention. The paper –no, parchment- is stained with age, unfamiliar underneath her fingers. There's this fear of it turning to dust if she tries unfolding it, but Emma pushes it away.

She has never seen Liam Jones' face before, but she knows she's looking at it now. Smiling, both brothers are behind the wheel on the Jolly Roger. Emma can’t help but notice how different, even though tehnically he is just a bit older, Hook looks today. It’s hard to believe the cocky, revenge driven pirate is the same smiling _boy_ who has his arm over his brother’s shoulder.

Once again, she feels like in intruder, adding a bit more fuel to her guilt. She stands to leave.

Emma doesn't do apologies. Not since she was a girl whispering “I’m sorry”s into the wind, sorry for whatever she’d done that made her parents not want her. Now, with no one to apologize to, she wishes she could. But there is no one outside Hook's room blaming her. There is no one outside Hook's room.

...

That night, after everything is dealt with for the day, she orders rum. Ruby's brows do this weird thing where they almost reach her hairline, but she doesn't comment, and Emma is silently thankful. Because she has no answers, for whatever questions the brunette might have.

An hour ticks by, and she’s a few rounds in. The place isn’t crowded, and that suits her.

It's when she realizes that she's seeing Liam's face swirling at the bottom of the glass that she decides it's time to go home.

She’s standing outside her apartment, hand on the doorknob. And even though Emma Swan used to be the farthest thing from a believer, she lets the words out, hushed. "I'm sorry." She hopes he can hear her, and she hopes he can't. "I'm sorry Liam." She goes in, lips awkwardly modeled into a smile.

...

She gets the call at around eight the next morning. Most of the words don’t even reach her sleep muddled brain, but she hears the “he’s stable” and “he’s awake” quite clearly. Emma is on her feet the next second, and she stops. There are car keys on the desk nearby, and her fingers itch for the second time in two days. It would be so much easier to just run for the hills. To run so she wouldn’t have to face her mistake.

 

_‘Stupid, Emma, thoughtless, it was-‘_

 

“Thank you, I’ll be right over.” She hangs up the phone, gets dressed. Enough is enough. Running is no longer an option. If nothing else, she owes him that much.

 

She is entering the hospital and the ride’s been too short.

 

And as she’s standing by the open door to his room, one last time she squashes the urge to turn and sprint.

 

He looks almost as bad as he did yesterday, but the mask is gone and his eyes are open.


	4. It's Okay

Dawn finds half of the hospital staff scrambling to their feet and rushing to the room down the hall.

Dawn is when Captain Hook wakes up, alone, in pain, and chained down to a bed. He is vaguely aware of not being in his own clothes. There’s something on his face and when he reaches for it, he realizes he’s trapped. The movement makes him bite back a strangled scream as pain in his chest roars back to life. His hook’s missing. Something’s beeping, and it’s getting faster. He doesn’t know where he is or how he got there and it’s getting increasingly hard to draw breath. But it’s only when people start rushing in, blurry faces he doesn’t recognize, that real panic sets in. Then the reel runs out.

…

The second time he wakes up, not long after, goes over more smoothly. Before he has a chance to repeat any of his mistakes from earlier, like trying to move, Whale comes to stand at the foot of the bed, hands out as if he were approaching a frightened child. Killian kind of hates him for that.

“It’s okay Mr. Jones, you’re in a hospital. You got hit by a car.”

And everything comes back to him.

…

For a while, nothing happens. Once Whale is gone, having been kind enough to remove the bloody contraption from his face, all he can do is look around, his movements limited both by pain and handcuffs. There's not much in the room. It's bright, clean, and bare, except for the machines he assumes are somehow medical, a small desk next to the bed and a chair.

When a nurse comes to check up on him, Killian is tempted to tell her to take the chair away. There won't be anyone sitting in it, anyway. He buries the thought, smirks when she asks how he's feeling.

…

He doesn't need to look twice at the folded parchment to know what it is and where it came from. He isn't completely successful at stifling the anger that washes over him, anger at some strangers having touched it, looked at it. But it soon fades to the background, and Killian allows himself a moment of despair. He hasn't seen his brother in almost three hundred years, and the weight of that makes him close his eyes. It hurts, even after all that time, just the same. The only difference now, if it wasn't for the nearly faded drawing, Killian isn't sure he could recall his brothers face. And that makes his chest seize painfully, nothing to do with broken ribs.

“Where’s Cora?” The voice startles him. He wasn’t expecting her to come, but now that she’s there, he knows it was stupid of him. Of course she came, she had to. The Sheriff is there to get the information, to make sure the guy who’d just shot someone wouldn’t get away.

…

“Where’s Cora?” The words are out before Emma has a chance to stop them, and it’s a relief. Because being the Sheriff, there on official business, is much easier than facing the real reason she’s there. She sits in the chair, still feeling out of place, but less like an intruder than the last time.

“You look good, I must say, all “Where’s Cora?” in a commanding voice. Chills.” A though starts forming in her head, but she can’t figure out what it is, yet.

“You have all sorts of sore places. I can make you hurt.” _Or I could almost kill you. Again._

“You wouldn’t dare.” He doesn't know, it dawns on her. His smirk is forced and eyes narrowed in pain, but there is no blame in them. He doesn’t know what she did, or just doesn’t remember. She wishes that made her feel better, but it just causes her guilt to grow another horn.

“I’ve no idea where Cora is, she has her own agenda. Let’s talk about something I am interested in, my hook. May I have it back? Or is there another… attachment you’d prefer?” Busy with her guilty conscience, she’d almost forgotten what a pain in the ass Hook could be. Emma can’t keep a small smile from reaching her face.

“You’re pretty chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car.”

“Well, my ribs and lungs may be a bit worse for wear, but everything else is still intact, which is more than can be said for all the other bad days I’ve had.” And she has to stop herself from following his lead and looking at the space where a left hand should be. She wonders, if for a moment, how many “bad days” a person can live through, until one day, they… don’t.

“Plus, I did some quality damage to my foe.” It’s what makes her remember who she’s talking to. Because Hook isn’t just a victim, and that makes everything a bit easier. Her anger spikes.

“You hurt Belle.” She’s standing next to him now, accusing.

“I hurt his heart. Belle is just where he keeps it. He killed my love. I know the feeling.” They say time heals all wounds, but she doesn’t have to imagine the helpless rage, the hurt of losing someone you love, because she can see it clearly in his eyes.

She swallows the “I’m sorry” that almost slips out and says, “Keep smiling, buddy. He’s on his feet, immortal, has magic, and you’ve hurt his girl. If I had to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.” They exchange mocking smiles. She turns to leave, walks.

Her head is a mess. She came, teased him, threatened to hurt him. Maybe if he’d been angry, if he’d blamed her, maybe she could’ve apologized. Maybe that would’ve made her feel better, less like she’s getting away with murder.

"It's okay." His voice is low, scratchy from using his damaged throat for so long.

"What?" Her eyes widen, and she’s frozen to the spot. She was wrong, earlier. _‘He remembers.’_

"You made the right call. It's okay Swan." She feels sick. Out the door, around the corner, she doesn’t look back. Then she runs to her car.


	5. Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is it.
> 
> When I started posting this story here, on AO3, I re-read it. It's been a while since I originally wrote it, and I'm pretty sure I was much happier with it back then.
> 
> So I would love to hear your thoughts on it, if you find the time. What works, what doesn't, are the characters properly portrayed, that sort of thing.
> 
> Or anything you'd want to share, really. Reviews are always appreciated. 
> 
> Hope everyone's having fun! :)

It’s a cold and foggy morning in Storybrooke. The hospital parking lot is nearly deserted, empty save for a few cars and one shivering figure behind the wheel of a yellow bug. An engine roars to life, old and loud, and it sounds like regret. But the car doesn’t move.

 

Maybe it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but Emma smells the sea.

 

_“You made the right call. It’s okay Swan.”_

 

There are so many emotions fighting for dominance inside her, she can’t tell which one’s making her body shake. She wants it to be anger, anger at letting her guard down, at showing weakness. At running away. Anger is safe, familiar. But that’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. There’s this rusty part of her, one she tries not to acknowledge, that stirs. Emma Swan learned long ago, compassion can be a dangerous thing. It makes it hard to protect yourself, makes you vulnerable. Feeling compassion means feeling others’ pain, when you can barely manage your own.

 

Now, she doesn’t know what to do with it. Any of it, for that matter. But the thing is, she reaches for the key. But the thing is, she puts the engine to rest.

 

Her lie detector isn’t perfect. There were times she was wrong, but she isn’t now. She’s sure of it. Those three simple words that had hit her like a bullet, they were honest. _“It’s okay Swan.”_

 

Isn’t that why she went to see him, again? To face him, so she could move on. He let her off the hook, and she feels worse than ever. She went to see him so she could close the door on the whole thing. Instead, she tore it off its hinges.

 

Her insides are playing tug of war, making Emma want to scream. She wants it to stop, wants everything to stop for a while so she can catch her breath. She’s dizzy.

 

So now she’s hiding in her car, wishing for a time-out. A pause button for her thoughts. For her. Too bad no one’s invented it yet.

 

She gets out of her car, goes back inside.

 

…

 

She’s leaned against the wall, positioned so she can see him and he can’t see her. Or so she hopes. She’s stalling. A few times she thinks she’s ready, but her feet don’t move. So she stays there a bit longer, just watching him do nothing. He’s turned away from her, still, save for an occasional coughing fit that has him doubled over, face contorted in pain.

 

Emma takes a few more minutes to steel her nerves, make sure she won’t chicken out this time, won’t take the easy way out he’d given her.

 

There’s this feeling you get, when you’re standing behind a closed door, and you know you have to knock, go in, but you don’t want to. So you stand there, hoping it will open on its own, do the work for you. But it doesn’t, and your hand goes up once, twice. Goes down. You breathe, try again. In that moment, it almost seems harder than sticking your hand in open flame.

_‘This is stupid.’_

 

Her feet are made of lead, but she makes them work. It’s time to stop being a coward.

 

…

 

He hears footsteps, turns around just in time to see her walk in. There’s determination on her face. It falters when she meets his eyes, she tries to cover it up.

 

She opens her mouth to say something, thinks better of it. Tries again.

 

“It wasn’t… okay. It’s not-

It was irresponsible, unprofessional, it-” No beating around the bush, then.

 

“-s okay, Emma, stop. Just stop.” But he doesn’t sound angry, just very tired.

 

…She doesn’t get it. How can Hook, _Captain Hook_ , the man who’s survived a couple lifetimes for the sole purpose of getting his revenge, tell her it’s- Because it sounds an awful lot like he’s saying- And then she sees it, clear as day, and her eyes go a bit wider. She wonders, what it’s like to haul around so much baggage, for almost three hundred years, alone.

 

And she’s trying really hard not to feel anything right then, to not look him in the eyes. Because if he reads her, like he usually does, and smiles- The thing about walls is, they’re effective. But once they start crumbling, those bricks end up on your back. And sometimes, it’s more than you can carry.

 

“Listen, love-” She doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want him to explain. She wants him to fight her, the way it was supposed to go. She can handle that.

 

“Are you insane? Do you have a death wish?” She doesn’t care, not about him. This isn’t about him at all.

 

She itches to punch him when he does smile, the slightest curve of his lips, barely there, but honest. Punch him, or swallow tears that aren’t yet there.

 

“There’s a difference, love, between wanting to die-“ His eyes wander, for the briefest of moments, to the folded parchment, “and knowing your worth.” And Killian can see the shadows underneath her eyes, the guilt. The way it’s weighing down on her. And he admires her pure heart for not seeing what’s right in from of her, something so obvious to him: he’s not worth it.

 

The problem with the real world, however crazy it might turn out to actually be, is it’s never simply black and white. Villains are never just villains, and heroes hate, they blame, they crumble from time to time. They lose faith and they make mistakes. And she’s supposed to be this savior, isn’t she? Emma isn’t sure, in that moment, who she’s supposed to be saving.

 

The thing is, she has a family now, something she’d given up on a long time ago. The thing is, as she’s looking at him, she feels just as lost as she did when she was a girl. The hurt isn’t the same in its origin, but it’s matching in intensity. And she doesn’t know what to tell him.

So she says the only thing that comes to mind.

 

“I’ll go get you your hook.”

 

When she comes back a few minutes later, his eyes are closed.

 

Later, she’ll blame it on the rum from the night before, on the weather. Temporary insanity. But she puts the silver hook in his good hand, then whispers in his ear,

 

“I _do_ know your worth.” And in that moment, she knows it’s true. “That’s why I’m sorry.”

 

She’s already walking out when he smiles, eyes still closed, fingers wrapping around the cool metal.

 

“Emma bloody Swan.” His lips barely move, words lost as sleep claims him. This time, he doesn’t dream of hearts turning to dust. He doesn’t dream of crocodiles.

 

He meets Liam on the Jolly Roger.

 

 _Good form, brother_.


End file.
